


you're so extreme

by jessus



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, or something, working out my feelings of immeasurable sadness with porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessus/pseuds/jessus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you drunk?” Enjolras asks him.</p><p>“Barely,” Grantaire replies, and when Enjolras raises a disbelieving eyebrow, he rolls his eyes. “If everything goes according to plan tonight, I want to remember this tomorrow, alright?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're so extreme

**Author's Note:**

> i never thought i'd be writing les mis fic until this past weekend, and i certainly never thought my first one would be porn. but my good pal bella (who got me into e/R and les mis in general) sent me this ask on tumblr:  
> enjolrast asked you:  
> i have so many filthy e/r thoughts but lately ive been obsessed w the idea of grantaire trying to get enjolras to sleep w him and him being like i'll let u do whatever u want i'll suck you off i'll let you come on my face i'll ride you for five hrs straight and then enjolras looks at him and goes 'or you could just fuck me' and grantaire whimpers and then they fuck  
> and then this happened, idk. so, here's almost 3k of modern AU enjolras/grantaire porn. hope you enjoy!

It's been weeks like this, with every passing drunken moment Grantaire could find being spent doing what could only be described as cruelly teasing, if Enjolras actually  _wanted_ him. There's a part of him--a small part, though it’s been growing larger each day--that thinks,  _Why not_? every time Grantaire stares at him just that little bit too heated when he rants about something, like Grantaire's main reason for listening is to get the opportunity to look.

Enjolras' resolve is strong, and for a while it's strong  _enough_. There are times when he feels himself weakening, thinks that it couldn't hurt; stress release, is what he calls it on the rare occasion he allows himself to entertain the thought.

Except those "rare" occasions become more and more common as the days pass, as his eyes catch over and over again on Grantaire's lips (around the mouth of a bottle, around a pessimistic word, not yet around a cock though nowadays Enjolras  _wants_ that). Sometimes, Grantaire is quietly appraising, and others he is loud about it, flashy and flirtatious and frustratingly hard to ignore. Enjolras _has_ ignored him, and plans to continue doing so for as long as humanly possible.

In the end it turns out to _not_ be very long, because there’s a loud series of knocks on his apartment door in the middle of a night _very_ close to finals week, and Enjolras knows right away who it is. Most of his friends are aware that interrupting him at this time of night is a good way to be faced with the wrath of an incredibly annoyed and stressed college student. He thinks Grantaire is one of the few that wouldn’t care. As it is, Enjolras is working industriously on writing seemingly endless notes when the knock comes, and he sighs and leans back in his chair for a moment, pressing both palms to his eyes almost as if stemming off a headache he doesn’t even have yet but which is almost certain to come.

It takes a long minute for him to drag himself up and out of the chair, to make his way to the front door and look through the peephole – unnecessary, because he’s sure of who it is, but a good habit to be in nonetheless in his neighborhood. He sighs again before he unlocks it, a soft puff of breath that’s more for his pride’s benefit than anything. Accepting that you want something and being completely okay with wanting it are two entirely different things, and Enjolras has just barely made it to the acceptance part.

As soon as he opens the door Grantaire is off, stepping into the apartment without invitation and saying, “I’ve been thinking, we should probably do something about all of _this_ ,” and then he gestures in between them emphatically. He closes the door behind him.

“Are you drunk?” Enjolras asks him.

“Barely,” Grantaire replies, and when Enjolras raises a disbelieving eyebrow, he rolls his eyes. “If everything goes according to plan tonight, I want to remember this tomorrow, alright?”

It’s not said like a confession ripped out of him, rather a simple truth he’s unashamed of admitting, and Enjolras is struck, not for the first time, by how different they are. He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t ask _w_ _hy now_ , because he knows he’s gotten a lot less firm about keeping Grantaire at bay recently, despite knowing in the back of his mind that it’d only serve as encouragement.

“And what, exactly, is your master plan?” he asks instead.

That makes Grantaire grin, sharp and teasing in equal measure. “Whatever you want it to be.”

Enjolras doesn’t know what to do with that. His brow furrows. “And what if I don’t want it to be anything?”

“You—” Grantaire pauses. He looks uncertain for the first time, and then an odd mixture of desperate, determined, and dirty as he goes on. “I’ve never met anyone who’d pass up an invitation like this. I’ll do _anything_.”

There is something mildly appealing about that, made no less so by the look on Grantaire’s face, which for some reason grows more confident as the seconds tick by and Enjolras says nothing. Maybe he sees something in Enjolras’ own expression, because Enjolras certainly hasn’t given anything away with his words.

Up until the moment he says, “Anything?”

The near-triumph in Grantaire’s expression is something he hasn’t really seen before, and he finds he likes it, even in this context. Perhaps especially in this context, Enjolras expressing even the mildest of interest and Grantaire taking it as more than it was meant to be worth (not unjustly).

“Anything,” Grantaire rushes to tell him, stepping further into his apartment, closer to Enjolras, who fights the urge to step back. Yielding will do nothing good for either of them, because he wants this, though he’s not entirely sure what _this_ is. “I’ll suck you off.”

And Enjolras can’t help but imagine it, Grantaire on his knees in front of him or kneeling over him in bed, anything as long as that soft-looking mouth was wrapped around his cock. He wonders how it’d be – would Grantaire wrap a hand around the base so as not to choke, would he try to take all of it, swallow him down? Would he succeed?

Enjolras can feel the beginnings of arousal stirring already, thinks maybe he’s been somewhat turned on in anticipation even through his annoyance since the moment he heard the knock, though he’s not sure. He licks his lips, and Grantaire tracks the movement with his eyes and steps closer again so that they’re not far apart at all, closer than Enjolras has ever let Grantaire stand in front of him before in the time they’ve known each other. Enjolras doesn’t move.

“You could come in my mouth,” Grantaire says, matter-of-fact, like he’s commenting on the weather or something equally banal. Then he lowers his voice, half-mocking confidentiality coloring it, a filthy smirk curving his lips.  “Or on my face, if you’re into that.”

Enjolras tries to think of something to say, something ambiguous enough to give away little of how much he wants it while still leaving the possibility of anything— _everything_ —open. But before he can, Grantaire goes on, seemingly thinking he hasn’t said what Enjolras wants yet, though the truth is Enjolras wants it all right now, every piece he can get. He’s just not sure what he wants _most_.

“I’ll ride you if you want,” Grantaire tells him. “It’s been a while, so you could—well, you could take your time if you wanted to, getting me ready. I could do it myself, too, I’m good at that.” He breaks off for a second, and Enjolras is stunned by what that image does to him, the idea of Grantaire hovering over him on his knees, fingers slick with lube, reaching back to open himself up for Enjolras—and yet still, it’s not what he wants tonight, as gorgeous as the thought of it is. “I’d ride you for _hours_ , let you fuck me, just—”

“Or you could fuck _me_ ,” Enjolras interrupts, and _there_ it is, suddenly he knows what it is he’s been waiting for, even if he’s not sure Grantaire would have ever gotten around to asking if that was what he wanted. This whole thing has been Grantaire attempting to convince him they should, and Enjolras doesn’t think he would have ever expected that particular offer if he were in Grantaire’s shoes. Not with the vagueness of Enjolras’ responses up until that point. But it’s out now, in the open, and Enjolras finds that now that it is it’s all he wants at the moment, even if he wouldn’t mind coming back to everything else at a later date—for further stress release, if ever he needs it.

Grantaire’s eyes go a little wide, his lips parting on a helpless sort of whimper Enjolras privately thinks he’d like very much to hear again and again and again. There’s a moment of inexplicable triumph that swells in Enjolras as Grantaire surges forward those last few inches to kiss him. Inexplicable because this is hardly his victory—this is persistence on Grantaire’s part coming to fruition, but it feels like the conquest belongs to both of them nonetheless as Grantaire’s teeth graze against his bottom lip.

His mouth opens on a gasp and Grantaire takes that opportunity to slide his tongue past lips usually reserved for speaking out against corruption and cruelty. There is nothing corrupt about this, nothing cruel except in the way Enjolras almost revels in the desperation he can feel in every sweep of Grantaire’s tongue, every tiny moan Grantaire allows to slip out.

Enjolras’ pants are tight, and tighter every second this goes on, but Grantaire seems not to mind the challenge as his hand sweeps further down to push into the back of them, far enough down to tease at his opening. Enjolras can’t hold back a shudder. He presses his open mouth to Grantaire’s shoulder, tastes fabric where he wants to taste skin, and it’s hard to wrench himself even a few centimeters away to say, “Clothes off, my bedroom’s that way,” but he manages.

Grantaire himself looks a little dazed as he nods, and he pulls off his shirt in one smooth movement and tosses it aside. Enjolras turns away as Grantaire’s hands go for his belt, because he thinks if he watches they might not even make it to the bedroom, and though the floor may look appealing right _now_ he’s sure he’d regret it in class tomorrow. He might regret this tomorrow anyway, but at least he won’t regret choosing comfort over quickness.

He’s in his room and already mostly naked by the time Grantaire finally gets around to following him there. Enjolras considers asking what took him so long, but maybe he got lost. There are, in fact, _two_ whole rooms in this apartment other than the living room. Maybe Grantaire is drunker than he admitted, although Enjolras can’t see any of the telltale signs of Grantaire’s usual lack of sobriety, so he supposes that’s not the case.

He doesn’t question him, because the moment Grantaire enters he stops in his tracks and takes a deep, trembling breath at the sight of Enjolras, though he’s just sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling off his second sock. Enjolras has gotten sort of used to Grantaire looking at him in something resembling his stare now, but this is different in only the slightest way. He’s not sure what name to put on it, and luckily he doesn’t have to, because Grantaire is approaching him not long after the look crosses over his face, and he pushes lightly at Enjolras’ shoulder, indicating he should move further up the bed.

Enjolras does, and Grantaire follows him, like they’re attached by a string and Grantaire would feel remiss if he didn’t leave enough slack in it. Grantaire is naked too, and as soon as Enjolras makes it up to his pillows and lays down fully, Grantaire covers him, their hips nestling comfortably together. The franticness of before seems to have almost disappeared, and Enjolras wonders where it’s gone for about three full seconds before Grantaire shifts against him and he registers full awareness of how hard they both are, just from kissing and being pressed into one another.

And then it returns, something sparking inside of Grantaire’s eyes as he asks, “Where’s your stuff?”

Enjolras laughs at the eloquence of it, and Grantaire huffs until finally Enjolras gestures at his bedside table. “In there. Hurry up.” He rolls his hips up against Grantaire in encouragement, enjoying the way Grantaire’s own stutter back against him helplessly for a second before he climbs off to rummage in the drawer.

He returns seconds later, a little further down on the bed for easier access. Enjolras spreads his legs, curling a hand lazily around his cock and stroking it once, twice as Grantaire pops open the bottle of lube and spreads it on his fingers. The foreplay is clearly over, and Enjolras can’t say he minds. He’s got to get back to work sooner rather than later.

Grantaire gets lost for a moment in staring at Enjolras’ hand moving languidly over himself, and Enjolras lifts a leg to nudge his side and says, “Get a move on, I don’t have all night.”

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Grantaire grins. “Sorry, you’re just so _beautiful_.”

It’s said primarily to make Enjolras blush and he knows it, but that doesn’t stop it from working. He scowls and opens his mouth, but it’s covered by lips that kiss and kiss and then mutter, “Wonder how long I can fuck you with my fingers before you’re begging for something more.”

“I’m not in the mood for teasing,” Enjolras says honestly. The prospect is tempting despite that, and he thinks it may be worth revisiting in the future if this doesn’t go horribly. Grantaire just draws back a few inches and laughs, low and impossibly dirty.

“I knew you’d be straightforward about this,” he says, and then he spreads Enjolras’ legs even further with a hand on one of his knees and is pushing one finger inside of him, and two soon after. Enjolras swallows against the burn, swallows against how much he  _likes_ it, and after a few moments he’s bucking his hips, short, aborted thrusts into nothing that leave him sparking with pleasure as they push Grantaire’s fingers in deeper, drive them into him at the angle he wants.

It takes only a few minutes of preparation before Enjolras is ready to ask for more, needs more, but Grantaire doesn’t make him ask for it, just takes one look at his face and somehow knows.

“I’m ready, come on,” Enjolras says anyway, even though he’s sure Grantaire has already realized because his fingers are gone and he's fumbling with a condom, leaving Enjolras aching for it in a way he thinks he should be embarrassed by.

 _This is_ Grantaire, Enjolras thinks, and he’s not sure if he’s trying to explain to himself why he should be embarrassed or why he isn’t at all.

It feels like it’s been longer than just a few seconds when Grantaire positions himself above Enjolras, and Enjolras hooks his legs around Grantaire in case he even thinks about drawing this out more than it has to be. But Grantaire just smirks down at him and pushes in, keeps going until he's buried deep.

Enjolras raises his head in an attempt to watch, biting his lip, and then Grantaire pulls out and thrusts back inside in one even stroke, and Enjolras groans, his head dropping back to lay on his pillow as he grasps his cock more firmly in hand. He doesn’t think he’ll last for long, but Grantaire’s wanted this so obviously, so powerfully that Enjolras doubts he will either.

That first thrust seems to break whatever self-control was keeping Grantaire slow, safe, and then he’s leaning into Enjolras with all of his weight, circling his hips over and over again while Enjolras tries not to bury a hand in his hair and tug him impossibly closer, kiss the noises he’s making out of his mouth and take them into his own.

Grantaire’s gasps come quickly, little panting huffs Enjolras can feel against his lips and is sure he’s matching breath for breath. He gets a hand on Grantaire’s ass with the intent of pulling him in further, deeper, but ends up just letting it rest there, his focus too broken by the way Grantaire is staring at him, the way he feels inside of him.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Enjolras says, groaning as Grantaire gets the angle just right, and Grantaire murmurs “Enjolras,” like he means it to be an echo.

Enjolras can’t think about the tone of his voice, too busy moving his hand, faster until he’s sure it’s what he needs to finally come. He’s so close, can feel it building within him, and he clenches purposefully around Grantaire to make him just that little bit closer, too.

Grantaire makes a sound somewhere in between a moan and a laugh and says, “You bastard, that’s cheating,” and all it takes is a few more precise snaps of his hips before Enjolras comes, gasping and matching his thrusts. Grantaire groans once and then kisses him through it, barely lasts ten seconds more before he stills, shuddering through his own orgasm while Enjolras rests a hand in his curly hair blearily.

They stay like that for a few moments, until Enjolras starts to get uncomfortable and whines a bit, shifting, and then Grantaire says, “Sorry, sorry,” and pulls out slowly, two fingers keeping the condom in place as he does so.

Getting an apology after sex isn’t the hottest thing that has ever happened to him, but Enjolras is reluctantly endeared even so. He doesn’t allow himself to be distracted from his work often, and generally isn’t interested in more touching than is required, but when Grantaire gets up to toss the condom and comes back a minute later with a washcloth to clean him of, afterwards crawling under his sheets like he owns the place, he can’t find it in himself to complain. He’s sort of tired, and isn’t sure he’d be much good at note-taking right now anyway.

“I’ll be out of your face in the morning,” Grantaire says, already all set to fall asleep.

“I’ll come on your face in the morning,” Enjolras says, and then blinks at himself, because he has _no_ idea where that came from, or if he even _wants_ to, just that Grantaire offered earlier.

Grantaire just _hmm_ s. “Whatever you’re into,” he mumbles. And he’s asleep.


End file.
